RELEASE DATE: SEPT. 26th
Everyone makes mistakes in life. Unfortunately, Holly Richards has become an expert at taking the wrong path in life. This time, she may have gone so far that she has alienated the one person who has always been there for her. Will she be able to make the right decision for once in her life?
Tommy Reed’s world shifted the night he found Holly Richards lying in a pool of blood on the ground. For reasons he can’t explain, he feels the need to protect Holly from her own past. In the process, he’s hoping to also teach her that there is more to D/s than releasing pent up emotions.
Life isn’t easy for the former-junkie and the cop. Some of those closest to Tommy are less than thrilled with his devotion to Holly. Those who pressured Holly into her former life are worried she’ll share what she knows. Is there any way for both of them to come away from the situation unscathed?
I don’t know why I’m here. I walk into her room with a cup of coffee and a bagel every day and sit with her until late at night. The nurses think I’m the compassionate boyfriend, not willing to leave her side. The truth is, I’m no one to her.
“Holly, I don’t know if you can hear me,” I whisper in her ear, wrapping my hand around her fingers. “You need to wake up. Tasha’s starting to think you’re slipping away but I told her she’s wrong.”
There’s no response. There hasn’t been for the past two weeks and I’m starting to worry there never will be. The first ten days, they kept her in a medically-induced coma so she wouldn’t suffer from the drug withdrawal. They started easing her off the medication a few days ago and she should be awake by now. The doctors are now classifying her as being in a “vegetative state” because she’s breathing on her own. If only she would give us some sign that she’s still in there…
I reach for bottle of lotion beside the bed. Every day, I massage her hands and arms, hoping that my touch will cause her to open her eyes and say something. My fingers trace the outline of every flower inked from just below her elbow up to her shoulder. Her half-sleeve gives her a hard exterior from a distance, but upon closer inspection, the tattoos form a magnificently detailed garden on her pale skin.
As I take her hand in mine, preparing to work the lotion into her fingers, I feel her jerk away from me. Startled, I look to the head of the bed and see her eyes open, staring at me.
“Hey, sleepy,” I say, my throat dry and raspy from the recycled air in the hospital. “You had us scared for a while.”
About the Author
Sloan is a Midwestern mom who began writing nearly seven years ago as a way to make money while staying home with her daughter. Now, with two kids in tow and having written more articles on how to assemble various pieces of furniture than she can count, she is reaching to make her dreams come true.
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